


Night of the stag

by CMDAK



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Gen, Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 09:08:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16472675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMDAK/pseuds/CMDAK
Summary: A freak storm gets Q lost in a forest and a stag leads him to safety.





	Night of the stag

**Author's Note:**

> My deepest thanks to the Southern Satan for being my beta at the start~
> 
> Hope you all enjoy~

He really hated this bloody island and its bloody weather. One moment it was sunny and the forecast could rival the beaches of the Bahamas and the next moment it was raining cats and dogs and he could barely see an inch up ahead of the car. Did he just pass through some gates? He didn’t remember having to pass through gates to get to the convention and he was very sure that the main road wasn’t supposed to be as muddy as this one or have as many large, looming trees that looked like monsters ready to crush his little car into nothingness around it.

 

Had he strayed off the unknown path that he was supposed to follow? He glanced at the GPS that was annoyingly informing him the signal had been lost and he groaned, stopping short so he could bang his head against the wheel and out loud curse everything around him and his fear of flight because getting to the convention would have been ten times easier and faster by air than by car – then again, seeing how strong the wind was, he would have probably either died of a heart attack by now or the large, metal coffin would have long since been crushed against a mountain.

 

No, no, now was not the time to think about things like that, he told himself. The weather was getting worse with every second that passed and Q had enough common sense to know how much of a horrible idea it was to sit still when a flash flood was a very high possibility.

 

Naturally, his car refused to start because why wouldn’t it break now when he needed it the most? “I should have sprung for a newer model,” Q grumbled, chucking his phone to the side when he saw that it didn’t have a signal, nor could he make an outgoing call. “I should have sprung for a satellite phone as well,” he added, hitting his head against the wheel a few more times to make sure that he wouldn’t forget this on his next trip and in hopes that he’d get an idea about to do next.

 

He could be overthinking the whole flash flood but then again, what if he wasn’t? Wait, could people survive just fine if they stayed in the car while in the middle of a flash flood, or would the force of the water bend the metal around him in such a way that his death would be a lot more painful than simply being smashed against some rocks? Or would the wall of water kill him first? How did one die in a flash flood anyway?

 

A quick Google should—“Goddamn everything to hell and back!” He exclaimed when he remembered that his phone was useless – although he was extremely glad that he couldn’t find the answer to that bunch of morbid musings, so maybe damn his phone just to hell.

 

And, well, maybe he was complicating everything and he should just wait out the storm in the safety of the car. It was reasonably warm, it was dry and at least there was no chance of him slipping on anything and breaking a limb – or all. His glasses were bound to become useless the second he opened the car’s door and since he could barely make out forms on sunny days without them… No, no. The car was the best place to be given the circumstances.

 

He had just started to dig around the backseat for his tea thermos when something bumped lightly against the car, causing him to freeze and sending him back in a spiral of over-scrutinizing all the horrible ways he could die in. Another bump, this time harder and followed by something starting to scratch his car got him to shut his eyes tightly and suddenly become a true believer as he prayed to God that a very hungry and powerful bear hadn’t found its way to him through this horrid storm since he was sure that being mauled by a wild animal was much worse than in a flash flood.

 

God proved to be non-existent – or at least dead – since his prayers were ignored and the third time that something bumped against his car, the window right next to him was smashed and that something grabbed the back of his shirt.

 

“I taste horrible,” Q shouted, elbowing the thing in its mouth and somehow managing to squeeze himself in the backseat, hiding behind his thermos. “I’ll get stuck in your throat,” he added in a trembling voice when he felt a slimy, rough tongue brush over his hands.

 

When nothing pounced on him to tear open his throat, he opened his eyes and found himself mesmerized by the almost white stag with blue eyes that was looking boringly at him, the roof of his car scratched so bad that in some places to the point that Q felt a few cold droplets of water fall on his face, the stag’s regal antlers stuck in the backseat, a few shards embedded in them.

 

“You poor dear,” Q murmured, running one hand down its long face to make sure it remained calm and didn’t start thrashing around while he tugged on his sleeve to cover his other hand so he could pull out a particularly long and thick shard out of his antler. “Did you want to find a warm, dry place to hide from this horrible storm?” He asked softly, yelping when the stag’s strangely minty hot breath tickled him. “Don’t worry; I’ll help you out and maybe next time, you’ll go for a roomy, bear-free cave.”

 

Opening a door was easy, but slipping out of the car was a bit harder, Q losing his glasses in the mud instantly and his left shoe to the stag that made to pull him back inside, but Q was much too preoccupied with circling the now destroyed car as he tried to think of a way to free the stag to worry about a little thing like how cold and disgusting his feet felt.

 

Now, he might have been a city boy whose idea of a perfect cabin in the woods included strong Wi-Fi, insect zappers all over the pace, and a constant flow of electricity strong enough to sustain all of his servers and computers while he was off in another part of the cabin reading a book, but even he knew that approaching a wild animal from behind was a horrible idea, so wrapping his arms around one of its hind legs and trying to pull the stag out of the car was off the table.

 

Sadly, that was the only thing he could think about that didn’t involve calling someone to empty their tranquilizing guns in it and then cut the car around it, so he was at a complete loss of practical ideas, wet to the bone, cold, and probably well on his way to get a serious case of pneumonia.

 

The storm grew stronger for a moment, forcing him to crouch down and cover his face to stop feeling like he would suffocate every time he was hit by the cold rain. When he felt fur brush against the back of his neck, he worried that he might have been pushed up against the stag and made to crawl away, but the stag was quick to grab the back of his shirt and keep him in place, using his body to shield him.

 

“Are you that stealthy or is this storm that loud?” Q asked, surprised that he hadn’t heard anything when the stag freed himself even though he was aware of how the hollowing of the wind was drowning out his voice. “And aren’t you a bit too tall for your kind?” Q marvelled. He was outright shocked by how easy the animal was towering over him even when the antlers weren’t taken into consideration and even though he was bending down slightly.

 

The stag didn’t answer – of course – but also didn’t let go when Q gently patted his snout and made to stumble back into what was left of his car. In fact, the stag started to move away from the car, easily dragging Q along with it, unbothered by the lanky limbs that were flailing around or the strong winds.

 

To say that trying to reason with a wild animal was strange didn’t do it justice, however, Q began talking to the stag as if it were one of his cats.

 

“I’m not sure stags take care of their younglings outside of traumatizing cartoons, but I do know that I’m not as thin as a blade of grass, so could you maybe put me down?” He wasn’t sure that he was understood, but he also wasn’t sure that the stag would have listened to him even he did. “Your teeth will fall out if you continue to carry me and I’m not entirely sure that there is a thing as a veterinarian dentist,” Q shouted after ten more minutes of being carried, scratching his throat in vain as the stag simply continued steadily trotting along to its final goal, using his antler to push whatever bush, shrubs, or broken branches were before him and to keep Q from getting scratched.

 

They braved the storm for another fifteen minutes before Q saw something that wasn’t a fallen tree or the shape of a far away mountain and when he realized that the huge manor was the stag’s endgame.  He started to struggle for real, not caring in the least that his shirt was starting to rip.

 

He freed himself just as the stag got to the porch, but every time he tried to step off, his path was blocked and he was gently pushed closer to the doors. “I don’t think anyone’s home, so I should just leave before I get sued for trespassing,” Q tried to reason to it, finally starting to feel very awkward talking with the stag and very creeped out by everything. “I really shouldn’t have hit my head so many times and so hard against the wheel,” he murmured as he tried to feint around the scarily smart stag.

 

It became obvious pretty quickly that there was no way of getting around it and after Q was overpowered by a sneezing fit, he finally plopped down next to the massive doors and started to take off his drenched cardigan. “Fine, I guess that whoever owns this manor wouldn’t be too upset if I wait out the storm here.”

 

But the stag didn’t seem to like that very much and huffed as he easily pushed the large doors opened and made his way inside the house, tracking mud, leaves, and sticks all over the obviously expensive carpet, forcing Q to run into the house after him to catch what must have been a Ming vase the stag knocked off a table.

 

“I’m sorry for barging in like this, but you have a wild animal in the house,” he called out, carefully putting the vase back on the table and then quickly taking off his shoes and socks so he wouldn’t make an even bigger mess. “It’s not a dangerous one, I think,” he added, shivering. “Hello? Is anyone home?”

 

“Yes,” a deep voice suddenly came from the right, startling Q. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” a blond man with piercing blue eyes and a few fresh scratches on his face said, quickly walking over to the door to close it before focusing back on Q and offering him a smile to go with his extended hand. “Bond. James Bond.”

 

“Q is the short version of my name and what I usually go by,” he said and shook his hand, feeling extremely awkward. “I’m very sorry for dripping all over your floors and for somehow losing a stag—”

 

“What silly things to apologize for,” James was quick to interrupt him, putting his arm around his shoulders as he led him deeper inside his manor. “The weather this time of the year is unpredictable and in no one’s control and I’m pretty sure that my ancestors built this place on the stag’s land, so I’m not really surprised to hear that he got into the house again, especially in this weather.”

 

Q slowed down. “Again?”

 

James started chuckling. “Some of my friends have referred to him as an overgrown cat with antlers.”

 

They stopped in front of a large, old oil painting that depicted a stag similar to the one he’d seen standing on top of a hill with a full moon behind it and Q felt a little bit better. “Even so, I don’t think it would be a very good thing for him or your house if he’s allowed to roam around freely. I mean, he did get stuck in my car and I’m not entirely sure that he isn’t wounded. Or how he freed himself from it, for that matter,” he admitted, mouth falling open when James revealed a huge bathroom with white marble floors and obviously hand painted walls that depicted water sprites playing with deer.

 

“Kitschy, I know, but you can use as much hot water as you want while I go take the stag to the garage before he eats the fridge,” James said, putting a fluffy bathrobe and a large towel on the side of the large tub. “This is for hot water, this is for cold water, this is for the showerhead, and this one here starts the waterjets on the side of the tub, got it?” Q gave a short nod and James turned him to the right side of the room. “The washing machine is over there and the dryer is to the side, so feel free to use them. You can also take clothes from that closet over there if you don’t want to walk around in just a bathrobe, although they might be a bit too big for you.”

 

James flexed a bit to show why and Q turned his attention back to the tub so he wouldn’t be caught staring. “Thank you, Mister Bond.”

 

“I’m not so old as to be called ‘Mister’ so please call me James.

 

***

The second he stepped out of the bathroom, feeling all warm and toasty even though he looked like a prune, the smell of food hit him and woke up his stomach which reminded him with an almost painful growl that he was currently more hungry than tired.

 

He followed his nose down long hallways with incredibly soft carpets and walls covered with oil paintings of regal looking people – some with a stag behind them and others with a terrifying looking wolf hiding in their shadows – to a lavish dining room that had large, boarded up windows. There were two places set at the long, mahogany table and luckily for Q’s already breaking voice, they were next to each other.

 

“The stag is safely munching on some hay in my garage, so don’t worry,” James said as he entered the room, placing a green porcelain tureen between matching bowls on the table. “My cooking is a bit rusty since I favour takeout when I’m in the city, but I trust my knowledge enough to be sure that I won’t give either one of us food poisoning.”

 

“The three times I tried to cook, I almost burned down my apartment.” He gingerly sat down at the table, his stomach growling once again when he was served soup.

 

James chuckled at Q’s embarrassment and moved the tureen closer to him. “If you find it to your liking, you can eat as much as you want. Oh, and don’t worry about eating me out of house and home; my gamekeeper always complains that I buy too much food when I come here, so this storm can last for a month before we’re reduced to eat the really old crackers that I have stuffed in the back of the pantry.”

 

Just like that, Q was reminded how he got there and that no one knew where he was, easily picturing the desperation of not only his friends and employers when they got automatically sent to his voice box when they tried to call, but that of his entire family. Glancing in James’ direction, he felt apprehension was over him and he worried his lower lip, trying not to let his imagination get the better of him. “Do you have a working phone for me to use? I should really let everyone know that I’m safe.”

 

“Of course,” James said, quickly pulling his phone out of his pocket and giving it to Q. “Unlimited plan and all that, so don’t hold back. I also have decent Wi-Fi if you need it, although only one laptop survived me this time, so you’ll have to use the PC.”

 

Sighing when he saw the full bars on the phone, Q nodded his thanks before ducking out of the room. He didn’t remember any phone number, but it was very easy for him to access his friends’ Facebook and message one of them and not one minute later, he was in a conference call with three of them and his parents, trying to assure them through that he was just fine while his friends listed off everything they had found about James Bond, his family, and the estate he was currently in – one of the many the Bond family had around the wold, his friends made sure to point out.

 

“The soup is getting cold, so I must go now,” he finally said when he had enough. “I will call you first thing in the morning, don’t worry.”

 

“ _Darling_ ,” his mother called out just as he was about to end the conversation. “ _Just in case something happens between you and Mister Bond, please use a condom—”_

 

“Mother,” Q hissed, his father also invoking the love of God in the background.

 

“ _Now, now, dear_ ,” she gently chided him. “ _A stormy weather is just perfect for things to happen. Not to mention that I can google just fine, thank you very much, and I’ve seen how he looks like. Just your type, I suppose._ ” Of course it was better to have parents that didn’t throw you out of their house or dragged you to a church to get you exorcised when you came out, but his mother had a way of meddling into everything with such passion and determination that every now and then, Q kind of regretted coming out to her. “ _Q, darling, are you still with me?”_

 

“Yes, mother,” he assured her quickly, running a hand through his messy hair. “Can you please not say anything—”

 

“ _So, wear protection if you do anything and let Mister Bond know that I will be having a conversation with him if it does happen whether he likes it or not_. _No lord of this or that gets to de—_ ”

 

“And I’m going to eat, bye mother,” he interrupted her and quickly ended the conversation before she could say any more embarrassing things, his face still burning as he sat down next to James and gave him back his phone. “Thank you and sorry I took so long. My mother talks a lot when she’s worried.”

 

James’ smile turned sad. “That is a mother’s prerogative, I suppose.” When he focused on his bowl, the silence that feel between them turned heavy and awkward and Q felt like he wanted to reach out his hand to him and either scratch him behind his ears or scratch him under his chin.

 

He grabbed his spoon instead and decided on talking like a normal human. “So, in which city do  you usually order takeout?”

 

“London,” James said simply and from then on, since they were city neighbours, it was very easy for Q to steer the conversation far away from family and what started with them complaining about the overcrowded city and its much too small streets that seemed to be filled with crazy drivers who cared little for the traffic laws – James admitting to be one of those crazy drivers every now and then – ended with the two of them settling in on a dinner date just as the last drop of soup was slurped.

 

Filled to the point of feeling like he was exploding and yawning every other word, Q was more than happy to be shown to what would be his room until the storm passed. “Mine is all the way down the hall,” James explained, holding out a key to Q. “And this belongs to your room, should you feel more secure with your door locked. There are no secret passageways that lead…” James trailed off and frowned. “I haven’t show you around the manor yet.”

 

Barely holding back a yawn while trying to smile reassuringly, Q looked strange. “No offence, but I’m so tired that I’ll probably fall asleep standing up.”

 

“A most uncomfortable position if you are not used to it,” James said cryptically, fighting back a smile of his own. “Feel free to roam around if you wake up before I do; I’d need my gamekeeper to properly present the house anyway.”

 

Q fell in the bed like a deadweight. “I think I’ll sleep in, if you don’t mind. This bed is much too soft for waking up before I really have to.” He was murmuring by now, his eyelids growing heavier with each second that passed.

 

He blamed the bed for that, of course. All the hotel beds that he’d slept in before were rigid, but this one felt like what he imagined clouds did, the sheets feeling like feathers against his skin and it was easy for him to slip into the land of dreams, unaware of James slipping out of the room after wishing a good rest.

 

He didn’t stay in there for too long, the loud storm finally breaking through the peacefulness of his dream. His initial confusion gave way to unrest and then to outright panic when he couldn’t remember where he was or why he was there. He didn’t remember actually reaching the hotel, he didn’t remember checking in, and he certainly didn’t remember his boss agreeing to pay for a room that looked the way this one did.

 

Thankfully, he caught sight of a painting of a stag being fed apples by a young man when lighting flashed and everything came back to him. “Okay, the Bond family might be overdoing it  little bit with the stag motif,” he muttered, making a mental note of how the canopy of the bed looked like before turning to his side.

 

Not that he felt like sleeping anymore, his mind keep running back to the stag. “I wonder if he’s okay.” It didn’t really cross his mind to check the stag’s face while being carried for scratches, but now that he’d seen a few small scratches in the painting, it was all he could think about.

 

James had said that he’d take care of him and Q had no reason not to believe him, but he couldn’t help but still be worried about the stag. What if he had gotten stuck in yet another car in the garage? What if— “Okay, I’m a worrywart,” he declared out loud, kicking the covers off of himself and jumped out of the bed, hell bent on finding a way to check on the stag without putting himself in danger.

 

That quickly proved to be a lot harder to do, Q slipping on the second step from the top and almost plummeted to his death. He then walked into the large table at the bottom of the stairs and then stubbed his pinkie toe the corner of a chair when he stubbornly continued to make his way towards the main door, an actual tear rolling down his face from the pain, realizing when he wiped it that the reason his eyesight was so bad was because he had forgotten to put on his glasses.

 

Grumbling at himself for his own foolishness, he managed to reach the front door without any more incidents. It became obvious very fast that he wouldn’t have been able to cross the courtyard to get to the garage even if he had his glasses on, the rain continuing to come down like heavy curtains more than actual drops while the wind still raged.

 

He wasn’t sure if the house and the garage were connected however, since he had received James’ metaphorical blessing to explore and he didn’t feel like he was going to go back to sleep soon, he might as well make sure of that.

 

It didn’t take him long to trip over his own legs even if he was doing his best to be careful, but he was saved from face planting by the missing stag himself, the animal grabbing on to the back of Q’s shirt and helped him regain his balance.

 

“Safe and sound and to the rescue, I see,” Q whispered, scratching him behind his ears. “Not wet either, so you didn’t have to brave the storm to get back inside the house.” He chuckled when the stag stepped back and pushed his chest out in front, like he was expecting to be praised – which Q was more than happy to do. “Such a smart boy you are,” he said and wrapped his arms around his muscly neck, giving him a hug and using him as a crutch as the need for sleep returned to sleep instantly. “Now let’s get you into some lighting to see if you have any wounds or not.”

 

They settled down in the hallway near the main door, the stag wrapping himself around Q to keep him warm while he carefully examined him for wounds. Q got to around his neck when he decided that nothing would happen if he closed his eyes and used the stag’s back as a pillow for a few moments.

 

He didn’t remember how he’d fully gotten on the stag’s back, but he dare say that it was somehow more comfortable than the bed even if it wasn’t as soft as… Or maybe he was on James’ back? He was sure he was feeling muscles now instead of fur and he was much closer to the ground.

 

“Where did the stag go? I wasn’t done checking him for cuts,” he said sleepily, moving a little away from James’ back to rub  his eyes.

 

“He’s much closer than you think and perfectly healthy,” James said, waiting for Q to rest his head against the back of his neck and wrap his arms around his shoulder before he continued to walk up the stairs. “Now back to bed with you. Humans don’t really get a proper rest when they sleep on the ground.”


End file.
